


Command

by startwithsparks



Series: MMOM 2013 [14]
Category: The Borgias
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micheletto returns home to his Milanese lover, and continues to set the tone for their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Command

It was a bad idea to keep a lover so close to home, he'd always known that, but desperation made men do foolish things. He hadn't been in such a state in a long time, since he was a boy, but there was so much upheaval in his - and everyone else's - life that having something solid to hold on to was a welcome relief from never knowing what waited for him on the other side of the day. Perhaps that was why he allowed the boy to stay in his home, why he was so eager to state his desires, why he rushed back, hoping to find him there again. It had been a long time, and affection was a weakness.

He found him at the desk, a small thing in the corner of the room, his head down and a faint smile on his face as he wrote. Micheletto leaned in the doorway, picking at a fleck of dirt on his shirt. "Who are you writing?"

The smile twitched a little wider on the boy's face, but he kept his eyes focused on the paper. "You."

"Why?" his brows knit carefully together.

He heard the scratch of quill tip sharp against the paper, then Pascal laid it neatly to the side. "I wanted you to know I was still here when you returned, should I need to step out."

Micheletto pushed off the doorway, pulling the door shut behind him as he moved further into the room. "I'm here now," he said, "there's no reason to leave word anymore, is there?"

Pascal tipped his head to smile up at him, "But you'll leave again."

"I might," he answered, "that's not your concern. But I _am_ home now..."

The two exchanged a lingering glance before Pascal pushed away from the desk. Micheletto watched him as he stood from the stool and crossed to the other side, waiting there, a few feet away, for the other man to close the distance between them. He learned quick, it seemed - he always waited for Micheletto to come to him, patiently accepting whatever affection he chose to give, never presuming that he might initiate any contact until the other man gave him permission. It was given, eventually, when Micheletto had enough of him strutting around like some perfumed boy. He didn't let him get that far this time.

Micheletto reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him in until they were standing nearly nose-to-nose. "Did you behave yourself?"

He slowly canted his head to the side, still daring Micheletto to handle him rougher. "I did," he replied, "Rome is a beautiful city, with many beautiful things to see, and I kept myself occupied with as many of them as possible." He lifted a hand to wrap lightly around Micheletto's, "And here I am, just as you requested."

"I'm sure it was difficult for you to control yourself with all those _beautiful things_..."

He affected a soft, bashful expression and looked down at the floor. "I promised I would be only yours, and so I remain. There is no one in Rome or elsewhere who could do for me what you've done, and it's with such promise that I waited, chastely, for your return."

"Good," he nodded, "very good." He loosened his grip and took a step back, putting a bit of space between the two of them. "Now I want you to undress and go to the bed."

Pascal didn't hesitate, he unlaced the front of his shirt first and pulled it off over his head, then let his hands fall to his pants. Those came loose easily, and he pushed them down to his ankles before nudging them off to the side. The thin fabric beneath followed, at last, a heap of linen on the floor between his feet in a moment. Then, making sure Micheletto's gaze followed him the entire way over, he strode across the room to the mattress on the floor and dropped to his knees. Micheletto only turned and leaned against the side of the desk, making no move to join him there.

"Lie down," he said, "on your back."

Obediently, he shifted onto his side and then back onto the pile of blankets and pillows. The light from the window streamed out across his bronze skin, highlighting the valleys of his hips and soft curve of his thighs as he spread out. The way he placed his body, one knee dropped lazily to the side and the other bent and jutting upward, made Micheletto think that he knew what he was being laid out for. But that didn't diminish his enjoyment in the slightest. If anything, the willingness at which he submitted to his charges made it more exciting.

He braced his hands on the desk at either side of his hips, "Now touch yourself."

Pascal reached up and tucked a pillow under his head, keeping one arm beneath it to prop himself up. The other hand slipped slowly down his stomach, fingers seeking out every ridge of muscle, lip clenched coyly between his teeth. Micheletto watched attentively as he dragged his fingers through dark curls and then slowly wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock. With just a few brief strokes he filled out in his hand, thighs flexing as he arched up. It wasn't long before his other hand slipped from underneath the cushion and started its way down his chest, pausing to roll his thumb over his nipple. He breathed a low groan, steadily setting his pace.

Micheletto's gaze never once left his body, intently focused on the slide of Pascal's hands along his flesh. With his eyes closed, he stopped playing to Micheletto's reactions and got lost in his own skin, letting loose of every deep sigh and moan, digging his heels and hips into the mattress. He held nothing back, making for an incredible show, each twitch and slide were a part of the performance. But he could tell when the boy was about to come to his climax, and his grip slowly tightened on the edge of the desk as he leaned forward, possessed. Pascal's hand stuttered and he arched gently, twisting his head to the side to stare back at him.

"Micheletto..." he breathed.

He nodded, "Do it, let me see you..."

It was all the more encouragement he needed. Pascal twisted his hand and let his head fall back against the crumpled blankets and cushions. His hips jerked upward, spilling across his stomach with a little more than a soft whimper. Micheletto waited for him to relax before he moved forward, boots falling heavy on the floor. Pascal wiped his hand off on his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, his body open and welcoming. He dropped down to his knees between the boy's feet, hands seeking out the smooth flesh at the back of his thighs.

"Did you do that while I was gone?" he asked.

Pascal shook his head, reaching his sullied hand out to him. "No, my lord..." he murmured, "I waited, as you commanded."

He grabbed the boy's hand, drawing it up to his lips to suck his fingers clean.


End file.
